


Never in My Time

by Sinna



Category: Henry IV - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 2 - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, M/M, way too much thought went into names in this fic and I'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinna/pseuds/Sinna
Summary: Two Henrys in a Tavern(aka the Hal/Hotspur bodyguard AU that we all need)
Relationships: Prince Hal (Shakespeare)/Henry "Hotspur" Percy, other minor pairings mentioned or implied
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Never in My Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConvenientAlias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/gifts).



> Happy Holidays!

The Boar’s Head Tavern was a boisterous affair, spilling light and drunken revelers out into the streets. Henry Percy - more commonly known as Hotspur – sneered at the excesses, but he had a duty to perform, and no desire to be caught shirking it.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether his new posting was a direct punishment for his own actions, or some new move in the never-ending game played between King and Prince, and he didn’t care to know. Let his father worry about the political schemes at court. He would prove himself on the battlefield.

Though this particular battlefield seemed hardly befitting his skill.

When he didn’t see anyone suitably regal looking among the crowd of ruffians in the main room of the tavern, he approached one of the barmaids with a silver piece.

“Where might I find the Prince?”

“Hal? He’s upstairs with the regulars,” the girl told him.

“That’s your future king you’re addressing so familiarly,” Hotspur scolded her sharply.

The girl laughed.

“Some future king. He spilled ale all over my second best skirt last week. I think I’ve earned the right to address him however I please.”

She held out her hand for the money Hotspur had flashed. With a sigh, he handed it over and headed upstairs.

As promised, Prince Henry was seated at the largest table in the room, arguing dramatically – or perhaps philosophizing – with a man Hotspur recognized by reputation as Sir John Falstaff.

The Prince looked up, and paused in his elocution. 

Piercing brown eyes seemed to briefly bore into Hotspur’s soul, before the Prince smiled and raised a toast in his direction.

“Well, if it isn’t the valiant Hotspur,” the Prince declared.

Somehow, he made the nickname Hotspur took such pride in sound like an insult. Everyone at the table laughed, and the Prince loudest of all.

“Your father sent me,” Hotspur said, and the Prince’s face briefly clouded with some emotion Hotspur didn’t recognize.

“Well, you can tell him that whatever he wants I’m not interested. No matter how _illustrious_ the messenger.”

That was followed with a salacious wink that turned Hotspur’s stomach.

“I’m not here as a _messenger_ ,” he said. “The King sent me here for your protection.”

The Prince laughed again, and his followers were quick to join in.

Hotspur resigned himself to his new reality, and took up a station at the wall by the door. Playing bodyguard for the Prince was humiliating enough. He wouldn’t let himself be pulled into Prince Henry’s madness.

\--

“Would you care for a drink?” the Prince asked, holding out the cup in his hand.

It was hours later, and only a few of the Prince’s most loyal followers were still around, and those few were mostly unconscious.

Hotspur shook his head. The Prince shrugged and took a sip from the cup himself.

“So, what did you do to upset my father?”

It was a surprisingly sharp question coming from someone who had been drinking for the past five hours at least.

Although… now that he thought about it, how much had he really seen the prince drink? He always had a cup in hand, sure, but Hotspur had only seen that cup refilled a few times, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the Prince’s wild gesturing meant that more alcohol ended up on the ground than in his mouth.

“Why do you think I upset your father?” Hotspur retorted.

“He wouldn’t have sent you here otherwise. You’re the Harry he wishes I would be. You should be on the front lines right now. There’s talk of a rebellion brewing. The fact that he’s banished you to my side means he’s upset about something. So, what did you do?”

“I requested that he consider ransoming my brother-in-law,” Hotspur admitted.

“Edmund Mortimer?” the Prince said thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose that would do it.”

The Prince was… certainly not what he had expected.

Before Hotspur could say anything else, Prince Henry had turned and walked away from him, settling into a gait that excellently mimicked drunkenness before stumbling face first into the arms of Ned Poins. The young man cast Hotspur a long suffering look and helped the Prince off to bed.

\--

“Why do you do it?” Hotspur asked late one night.

It was quiet in the tavern, most of the regular patrons having returned to their beds or drunken themselves into a stupor.

Mistress Quickly was at the bar counting her earnings from the night, but Hotspur had come to realize that while she saw and heard almost everything, she was content to keep most things to herself.

Prince Hal looked up from the warm beer he was contemplating.

“Why do I do what?”

“All this.” Hotspur gestured generally to the tavern around them. “You act the sinful carefree prince well enough, but I’ve seen enough to know better. You play drunk, but you never truly are. You tease the girls, but I’ve never seen you go to bed with one. You might enjoy lording your quick wit over Sir John, but a little fun is not a reason to shirk your responsibilities for years. You’re playing some other game here.”

“Bold of you to question a prince's whims,” Prince Hal remarked.

“I’ve been accused of being too bold before,” Hotspur reminded him.

“That you have, Percy,” Prince Hal agreed. “And because it's you, and you’re no more my father’s lackey than I am, I’ll answer your bold questions.”

Hotspur wondered if Prince Hal was misjudging his loyalty to the King, or revealing his own hidden loyalties.

“Imagine if I was like you,” Prince Hal began. “The perfect son. A headstrong warrior with more honor than sense.”

Hotspur scowled at the description.

“Your father would be proud of you,” he pointed out.

Prince Hal waved him off.

“Oh sure. He would be. Everyone would be. At first. But imagine the things they would expect of me. Imagine how horrid my flaws would seem against the backdrop of their perfect imaginings. But if I keep their expectations low…”

“You can continue to imagine yourself perfect without actually having to risk anything?” Hotspur interrupted. “You can be smug about how much better you are than those around you?”

Prince Henry looked down his nose at him, with an undeniably regal air. But Hotspur had never been afraid to look royalty in the eye.

“You’re running away,” Hotspur accused, in case his meaning hadn’t been abundantly clear.

“I could have you executed for saying that,” the Prince reminded him.

“You’d have to accept your royal responsibilities first,” Hotspur pointed out smugly. “I think I’m safe.”

Hal sighed and took a large sip of lukewarm beer.

“Damn you, Percy.”

\--

When the news came that the King was dying, everything went silent in the normally boisterous tavern.

The Prince’s ever-present laughter died in his throat at the news. To Hotspur, who had become accustomed to that sound presiding over the cacophony of the tavern, the silence was like the grave.

Almost unconsciously, he crossed the room to Hal’s side, hand on his sword, as if this were another brigand he could fight off by force alone.

Naturally, it was Sir John who broke the silence with one of his ill-mannered jokes.

Hotspur paid him no mind, placing his hand on Prince Hal’s shoulders.

“We should go, highness,” he murmured.

Hal nodded in agreement. For once, he didn’t so much look at the rest of his merry band as he followed Hotspur’s lead.

“Have our horses saddled,” Hotspur ordered Francis, and the boy jumped to obey.

Hotspur recovered Hal’s cloak, and his own, from the front of the tavern and slipped several gold coins on the bar for Mistress Quickly. She nodded to him and the pieces vanished into her skirt.

It was enough of a goodbye to the one person he almost liked in this place.

Hal followed Hotspur silently, seemingly lost in thought, as he was ushered out to the stables and onto a horse. He didn’t speak until they stopped for the night.

“I thought I had more time,” he said, so quietly that Hotspur almost didn’t hear him over the crackling flames of their small fire.

“Everyone always does,” Hotspur replied bitterly, thinking how proudly his father had turned rebel, and how his mother had wept when the news came that he would never return.

“How did you bear it?” Hal asked. “You were actually close to your father.”

“I learned from his mistakes,” Hotspur told him. “I promised myself I wouldn’t break my wife’s heart for my own foolish pride.”

“And if one’s father has made no mistakes?”

“Everyone makes mistakes, highness,” he said, more tactfully than he might have before the news of the king’s illness.

“Harry, please. Stop calling me that.”

It was a common request between the two of them. Hotspur had never heeded it before, but Hal’s voice had never sounded quite so broken before.

“Very well… Hal.”

Hal smiled, just a bit.

And then Hal leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Harry stared, eyes wide.

“What was that?” he asked breathlessly.

He felt like a rabbit, and he felt like the fox that caught it.

“We’ve run out of time,” Hal said. “I don’t want to have any more regrets.”

\--

The next morning, Prince Henry’s eyes were dry as he entered the room where his father was dying, and Hotspur stood outside, the once rebellious knight seeming a tame guard dog in the Prince’s hands.

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite things about Shakespeare is how everyone has a bunch of different names, and I've seen actors make some really interesting choices with that. So, I tried to put careful thought into how everyone - particularly Hal and Hotspur - refer to each other in this fic, and how it changes between the scenes. Hopefully, you'll also enjoy that :)
> 
> Title is a quote nabbed from "The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe." My favorite title trick is to use a quote from whichever show I'm working. Usually that's Shakespeare, including four fics from when I was working the Henry IV rep earlier this year. I'm absolutely amused that my first Shakespeare fic on AO3 has a title from an entirely different English classic.


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